Page 9 of Lovetown, USA
She squints, then rolls her eyes before she disappears inside.
I sit there for a moment, engine running, mind filled with regret.
I should have introduced myself properly. Given her my number. My card.Something.
But the truth is, it’s probably for the best. She was a sloppy, slurring, wobbly mess. It lowkey turned me off.
But her beauty and sex appeal are undeniable, which turns me right back on again.
I drive off, settling in for the ten-minute drive to my house. I’m on the easternmost side of Lovetown in a little blue bungalow in a quaint little subdivision that renamed itself Sweet Home.
Lovetown is kind of corny, but it’s safe, and I wanna fall in love again.
It’s a new day today, and I’m back in my white coat and Jordans, charting vitals and reviewing labs while I chug black coffee and munch on a homemade blueberry muffin.
Family medicine ain’t glamorous, but I like the pace. I like being the doctor who catches things early, the kind who notices a new mole or catches an off-hand comment that turns out to be something.
Knock, knock.
I look up at Asia, my nurse.
“Room twelve,” she says. “General malaise and heart palpitations.”
I nod, then make my way to my second patient of the day.
She smiles when I walk in.
I take a quick glance at her chart. Thirty-two years old. Weight’s in healthy range. Blood pressure’s normal.
“What brings you in today, Mrs. Whitmore?”
“Ms.” she corrects as she slowly crosses her legs, which are bare under her skirt. “I feel kind of achy, and I have these strange flutters in my chest.”
Speaking of…her top is cut so low, I can practically see her heartbeat behind half a foot of cleavage.
“Have you had any shortness of breath?”
“No. Just fluttering.” She uncrosses her legs, smiling at me as she does it.
Oh.
Okay.
So, this is one ofthosevisits.
I blow out a sigh, resisting the urge to shake my head. As soon as these people heard a handsome, divorced black doctor was moving to town, it was all she wrote.
Eligible men are public property here.
If I were the hit it and quit it type, that would be a good thing. But I’m more of a relationship kind of guy. I wanna get married again one day. The universe owes me a fucking do-over.
I go through the motions with Ms. Whitmore. Stethoscope, gentle questions, vitals. My ultimate diagnosis is that she’s a perfectly healthy woman suffering from an extreme case of thirst.
“My nurse will follow up with you,” I say as I nod toward the door. “Take care.”
She stands, turns, and bends over to pick up her purse, and I look away with an eyeroll.
I don’t like anything that’s too easy.
